Fearless Idiot V2
by Mirsa
Summary: Sam isn't known as "O Fearless Idiot" for nothing, but that's not always a good thing ... {ALTERNATE VERSION}


Sam gingerly pushed her hand into the dark crack between the door and the frame. Curling her wrist as far as she could, she felt for the deadbolt turn on the inside of the door. As she worked, the girl kept her eyes trained on the empty door on the far end of the hall. If Ryan caught her doing this, she would get in trouble – even as the known risk-taker and fearless ghost hunter in the PRS universe, Sam had been known to take unnecessary and often naturally dangerous risks while on case, and more than once the A&E crew had had to carefully edit their film in order to mask Ryan's reprimanding Sam or her arguing against him before storming out.

Just as Sam's fears were realized, her fingers brushed the metal of the lock. As if the mere touching of the thing had been a catalyst, everything happened in a light speed domino affect. Ryan spotted Sam, and immediately knew what she was doing. His deep voice shattered the silence of Dead Time as he barked her name, but as the man advanced towards her, Sam suddenly became intensely aware of several things. The lock her hand now rested on was cold, so cold it felt warm and she knew her fingers were going to burn from the touch. As she had adverted her eyes from Ryan's furious glare, a movement of shadow from _inside_ the room caught her attention and Sam turned her head to press her eye as close as she could to the small opening. As her body lay smooshed against the wood, there suddenly appeared mere inches from her a face, grotesque and deformed, it's one eye glittering and its mouth twisted into a leer.

Ryan had just reached Sam, and was looming over her, furious but unwilling to risk hurting her by jerking her away from the crack where her arm had disappeared. He knew she knew he was there, and expected her to slowly retract her body and turn to face him. Instead, the man was surprised to suddenly see the girl's body stiffen, her head turned at an angle that showed she was staring at something that lay beyond the door … something that caused a look of horror to cross her features.

Then a scream ripped from Sam's lips as she began writhing violently, trying to retract her arm. But though she struggled valiantly, Sam already -knew whatever had grabbed her wrist was not going to release her so easily.

"Ryan!" the one word was all she managed to get out before the pull began, and she felt Ryan wrap his arms around her waist in an effort to stop her being pulled into the door that was beginning to rattle violently. A deathly chill was emanating from the dark portal, and an unnatural fear settled over the girl's mind, as if she knew what was about to happen next.

"Ryan … they're not letting go …" her voice was a tear-stained whisper, barely more than a breath but Ryan's face was nearly on her shoulder; he alone heard her words and felt the shudder that passed through her body before, with an echoing cry, Sam was wrenched from his grasp. He saw the absolute knowing and unabashed terror in her eyes as she turned her head, reaching for him with her free hand as she was dragged into the solid black. Ryan could do no more than lift his arm in the return gesture before the echo of her screams were all that remained, and the door slammed itself closed. A sharp click, louder than gunshot in the sudden still, told the world that no one else would be entering that particular door again.

"Ryan …. Ryan …. help me …." She couldn't see, didn't dare move. All around her shadows writhed and twisted, trying to draw her into them but she refused, crouching next to the door she had been sucked through only seconds before. Out of instinct and trained habit, Sam had curled her legs up, trying her best to become dead weight to whatever it was that had drawn her in. As soon as the bolt had turned, the thing had dropped her to the floor, and she immediately sought the door. The unearthly, ethereal moans and cries echoed like shimmers around her, and she could feel whenever one of the shades touched her; her skin, naturally warm, grew icy cold, sending shivers down to the very core of her being.

"Ryan … "

"Sam? Sam! Listen to me, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

He heard her. He could hear her. Sam leaned against the wood paneling, trying to breath, pressing her hands flat against the door, and finally letting the tears she abhorred spill from her closed eyes. She wasn't alone.

"Ryan, it's … cold … I can't breathe …"

"Samantha, don't you leave me, don't you dare leave me!" the warm voice on the other side of the door was right next to her face, and a vibration resounded against her hand pressed to the wood. Sam could almost see Ryan in her mind, saw him hunched over, kneeling next to the door, his hands and face in almost the exact same positions as her own.

"Ry … I'm scared …" She felt, rather than saw him still whatever movements he'd been making. She knew her words had awakened a fear deep inside him; she wasn't O Fearless Idiot in the group for nothing. And the mere fact that she'd verbally admitted it, without hesitation, told Ryan more than any other words could have. She wasn't afraid – _she was terrified_.

She hadn't moved an inch for what felt like eons, but what her logic told her might have been an hour, tops. Her joints were stiff; her muscles shook from keeping themselves so tightly drawn for so long. Her skin felt clammy, and this was feeling it from the inside. Sam knew there was a reason for her imprisonment in this room, but she'd quickly stopped thinking about it, and then she just stopped thinking. She held on to the smallest of sounds she could hear – the continuous breaths taken on the other side of the door. Ryan was still there, he hadn't left, but now she feared it would be she who broke that promise first.

When the liquid black flowed into the room, she knew. She knew what had brought her here had come for her, and she knew, despite her strength and faith, there was little hope of defeating this thing on its own. As much power as a single strong Christian is given over the demonic forces present in the physical world, there were some fallen angels that had been given power over the earth until the end times, and those no Christian could defeat – only withstand. But as the blackness slithered to her, and began crawling over her skin, it was if Sam could physically see her mind, her body, _her_ _soul_ leaning into the gentle caress. Her heart, ever stubborn, withstood the assault, but she was weak, and it knew it.

Samantha withstood the demon's touch for hours, real hours that counted in the real world and not just her mind. It would come to her, she would reach towards it, and at the last possible second her heart would flutter madly with everything contained within and she would jerk herself back, often smacking her head into the wood of the door which would prompt a short dialogue from the other side. She would voice relative well-being, before the cruel cycle would begin again, and with every turn, a little bit more of her was worn away.

Then, it happened. Well, two things happened at once, but in retrospect it was almost as if the one somehow caused the other and created an event that would live on in the collective memories of both humans and structures alike. The lure had come again, and this time Sam felt that the fluttering strength and stubbornness that had saved her thus far was failing; she was still both strong and stubborn, but not enough so to resist. The darkness slid smoothly across her skin, filling her being with things she dared not dream, and she felt her essence reaching for the darkness. Unconsciously her body followed the pull, and whether by design or accident, Sam's body moved enough away from the door that when it was suddenly and brilliantly forced open, she remained unharmed.

The searing light that came from the open portal destroyed the gloom that had provided a haven for the writhing shadow-creatures that night. They fled, with non-existent howls and wails, into the true night that lay beyond the building. Silhouetted in the light was a figure that was soon joined by others as they stared into the room. The brilliant light had also chased the liquid dark away, but not before its task had been completed. There, lying in the middle of the room, body limp and heartbeat stilled, was Samantha. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open as if merely asleep, but when Ryan pulled her into his arms, he felt the stilled heart no longer beating within her. He refused to shed tears for her, an action that gave him much grace when a faint pulse flickered after a moment, and Samantha's body convulsed as the automatic gasping response kicked in and she inhaled deeply to regain the breath stolen from her.

But despite these signs of life, none of them were prepared when Ryan's gently urgent shakes managed to open the girl's eyes, only to discover the vacant absence of a spark of life within. She may not have died, but whatever the darkness had truly been had stolen something much more precious.

The will to live.


End file.
